The Rocky Mountain Job
by Smooth Doggie
Summary: Tired and worn out, Eliot finds himself in unchartered territory, away from the team. Help finds him from various reliable sources, and much is learned about the inner workings of Eliot Spencer. Gift Exchange for Leverage Secret Santa 2015. No slash. Maybe a little romance...
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors Note:**_

 _ **Originally posted over on AO3 as part of the Leverage Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2015. It was for MusingMidge77 – who will be surprised to find an additional chapter shortly. I hope that you all enjoy this story.**_

 _ **Also, I want to offer my thanks to Valawenel for checking this over, and helping me greatly with my story, and my writing in general.**_

 _ **Smooth Doggie**_

"Oh, so you mean pretzels, maybe later mama?" Hardison waggled his eyebrows suggestively towards the lithe blonde, carrying a plate of garlic bread towards the dinner table in their office, downtown Portland. The Leverage Team were getting ready to eat after completing another complicated job that very afternoon. Eliot had prepared his infamous Lasagna, with side-salad and garlic bread as a treat for them all.

Also in the kitchen was Sophie, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear anymore, and while she wasn't technically eavesdropping, it was beginning to feel a lot like that. Topping up her wine glass, before moving to replace it in the refrigerator, she'd overheard them at the kitchen entryway. Taking a deep breath, the grifter smiled and excused herself in order to pass between the younger team members. The British lady was grateful their latest job was finally over. Although it had been a relatively simple job, less though for some members of the team, they were all weary after a protracted period of jobs and they were all ready for a vacation.

She looked out from under the wavy bangs hiding her eyes, and hopefully sheltering her from any inclusion in this conversation. Happy to note that Parker's face shone brightly, a little flushed at the suggestions Hardison was making, while her eyes glistened as though she was admiring a giant jewelry haul.

"Where shall we go?" That was Parker distracted from setting the table now, and Eliot's sigh was apparent from the kitchenette.

"Dinner's up folks," Eliot's gravelly voice floated through from the same room his sigh had seconds earlier.

Moments later, he exited the kitchen, excusing himself as he walked between Hardison and Parker, before he deposited the large crockpot filled with pasta sauce and bolognaise on the table.

As Nate pulled her seat out, she noticed Eliot whipping out the serving spoons from his back pockets, before flipping them into the air and landing them right into the serving dishes.

"Et voila!" the happy chef surmised.

"Smells delicious Eliot, thank you," Nate said as he took his own seat.

"Isn't that French?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, it was." Eliot shrugged nonchalantly.

"But you've cooked Italian food," she continued, "Surely you should have said something in Italian?"

"He probably don't know any Italian," Hardison spoke conspiratorially, as he leant across to serve himself some garlic bread, "except those words he uses to get the ladies into his bed."

"So you use Italian as your code for sex?" It was getting awkward now, and Sophie didn't think anything good could possibly come from the rest of this conversation. She glanced at Nate, who looked equally as uncomfortable, though as usual he seemed uninterested in involving himself. And, before she could change the subject successfully, Parker had started to laugh, and wasn't using her human laugh, but her crazy lady laugh – the one that sounded like an asthmatic seal, midway through a coughing fit.

"Seriously, how many ladies would fall for that Eliot?" Parker looked positively gleeful as she bounced closer towards the hitter. Sophie wished she hadn't done that; Eliot had taken the brunt of the physical hits this week and no doubt his tether was heavily unraveled already, and that was before this farcical scene befell them.

"That's not the sort of question to ask anyone, Parker." Sophie tried to interject.

"Eliot doesn't mind, we all know he's a slag." The sound of cutlery being dropped around the table was palpable.

"Whoa, Momma, you can't go calling anyone…" Hardison at least tried to calm the situation, but it seemed that Parker was way too hyped up after her week of relative boredom to stop, at any cost.

"Parker, that's a horrible thing to say," Sophie interjected over Hardison's own sentence, without her usual politeness, but she felt she had to say something. It might have been an integral part of Parker's innate charm; the fact that she truly was innocent, but that didn't often cause outbursts like this. Though, none of that excused her behavior.

Eliot's face literally dropped after Parker's insult, and it didn't lift while he continued to push the gourmet food around his plate, having retrieved the silverware he initially dropped. Obviously planning on how to get the hell out of there. He was already hiding behind his hair; something that Sophie had noticed him do during their early days together on the team. These days he had done it less frequently, hiding from the people who'd practically become his de-facto family. They knew him as well as possible, so the reasons why he might have hidden himself from view were less obvious lately. Now it seemed he did it when he couldn't bear to look at anyone: Or have anyone look too closely at him.

The table calmed and they continued to eat in relative silence. The meal was coming to a close, and time for them to sample any dessert the hitter might have made. Parker and Hardison began to speak quietly between themselves again. They were making plans for the following week, a conference about comics for Alec, and Parker might meet up with him, but she explained that she had a few things she wanted to check out herself beforehand.

"Maybe we can meet up at that hotel," he leaned closer, "you know, the one where we…"..

"Hey!" growled the southerner. "Do you two know how to be in any way subtle?" He returned his fork to the plate, considerably louder than he'd first planned. "There's just a time and a place for…that." Spencer clearly tried to sound less grumpy, but she noted he was failing completely. "Well, just sometimes… you should keep those private things… well, private." Eliot's voice interrupted the somewhat awkward silence that had befallen the room.

"Jealousy's a nasty look on you man," the hacker bantered back with the hitter.

"Oh, like you kept all that stuff with Moreau to yourself?" Parker's face instantly showed signs that she knew what she had said was wrong. It was nothing like what Eliot was talking about; this was going to head nasty quickly.

"Is that what you think, Parker?" came the hitter's spluttered retort.

"A secret, is a secret," Parker practically nah-nahhed the cowboy, whose temper was swiftly rising. "You said when Sophie took the Second David, 'you don't con your own team'." Again, provoking response from the southerner.

"I wasn't trying to con you," Eliot tried to convey emphatically. "I was trying to protect you from Moreau."

"I'm beginning to think you actually enjoyed what you did for him!" Parker's words flew from her mouth, probably just as she realized that she'd overstepped the mark.

Sophie's gasp was audible and the look of shock on Nate's face was palpable. _Why on earth had Parker said that, dragging up old pain for the hitter?_

"Parker!" Nate admonished. "There was no…"

"It's fine," he growled, "ain't like she's wrong." Pushing his chair back, he threw down his napkin and stood up.

They all knew that Parker had made a huge mistake, but Sophie couldn't fathom why Parker hadn't seen that Eliot had made those choices in order to protect them, rather than hurt them. Trying to clear up his own past mistakes, rather than reveal them to the team. It was as painful for him, as indeed all their own pasts were for them. They had all been haunted by them in Leverage Associate's earlier days.

"Gonna head out," the hitter spoke quietly, head down as he excused himself from the table.

He had to get out of there. Flee from their equally matching disheartened stares, the ones which conveyed to him clearly just how much they clearly felt they'd been let down by his forced disclosure regarding his time in cahoots with the evil gangster Moreau.

Eliot felt as if his breath had been tangibly forced from his lungs, beaten to a pulp metaphorically, and physically after the past week, and now his heart felt heavy and tormented. He left the apartment and headed straight for his truck. Thank goodness he'd already loaded it for his fishing trip. He was hoping to get an early start the next morning, after their now-traditional post-job wrap supper. And, considering how the evening had gone, it was beneficial that he'd get an even earlier start; maybe even get some time on the trails prior to meeting the others. He knew he just couldn't stay there, inside that office with all of them looking at him like that, knowing what they were thinking. The entire night stuck in traffic would have been better than him spending the entire evening going over and over this fiasco, trying to make them understand why he had handled things the way he had. Continually defending himself over something he believed that he was doing to keep them safe.

Eliot knew in his heart that Parker hadn't truly meant what she'd said, but deep down he had hoped to have moved-on from that particular error in judgment. He'd certainly hoped that the team had moved past it. Clearly, he'd been wrong.

However, there was another thing that was bothering him slightly more. He felt something that evening, something that he hadn't felt in years – anguish and heartache. His worry was two fold; firstly, a hitter with a conscience is one that needed to retire; and secondly, why couldn't they realize he'd covered it all up to protect them; to keep them safe. He hadn't kept it from them out of malice. His first thought had been of their safety: like always.

Climbing into his truck, he knew that if he'd looked back, Sophie would be at the window, looking out for him. For some reason, he was feeling spectacularly unworthy of her sympathy. He'd brought this on himself.

His thoughts brought about a melancholy he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe he was fooling himself by thinking he could stay in one place long-term. Maybe he was wrong in hoping he could have a family around him again. All the time he'd thought he was repaying his debts to society by helping people who'd been thoroughly screwed over by the system, and hopefully earning some positive karma. But, maybe he was fooling himself. Maybe his past would always haunt him and nothing could save him from the man he was; nothing and no one.

Parker never really considered that she would ever be able to glance directly into Eliot's eyes so clearly and deeply; like his armor had failed and she could see straight into his soul. He was always so guarded and secretive. Whereas now he looked fragile, almost breakable, and a little bit defeated; like she had physically wounded him. She saw his fists clench immediately, before he had quickly relaxed them again, almost as quickly as they had formed in the first place.

Parker wished she could stuff her cruel words back into her mouth, and swallow them down, never to be heard again. Eliot had always protected her. Treated her like a big brother might have done, by protecting her like he already had on many previous occasions; he'd more than proved his loyalty many times over. _What had she done?_

"Why did I say that? I know I shouldn't have," Parker spoke to the astonished team members remaining at the table. Staring straight ahead of her, unblinking she continued, "What have I done? Maybe, I should go after him."

"No, darling." Sophie placed her soft, warm hand upon hers, while Hardison kept his arm draped across her shoulder. All of them were sullen and diverted from anything that went before, including their former celebrations over another completed job. "Let him go for now, Parker. Talk to him tomorrow, call him up when he gets up to Colorado."

"It wasn't all that bad Parker," Hardison tried to reassure her. "He's a big boy, don't even see why he had to go and spoil dinner over it."

"I should think it would be perfectly obvious why he was upset, Alec," Nate's voice came from nowhere, almost as though they had forgotten he was there. "He's a human being at the end of the day, and he has a beating heart just like the rest of us."

Nate had listened for long enough; yes there was always a sharp banter between the three younger members of the team and he had never seen reason to put a stop to it. He had assumed they used it to distract themselves from the more difficult sides of their jobs. Used it to keep themselves in sync, because they'd spent so long working alone, not entirely used to working together on such projects.

Sitting there reflecting on it all he realized that as the Mastermind, he should have seen that Eliot was tired, much more worn down than normal, and his temper was on a shorter fuse recently. He should have asked the southerner what was going on, instead it has now become a 'thing' and he's gone for another week; _at least I hope he's only gone for a week_. No chance of finding out now. Parker's quiet and delicate voice penetrated his thoughts.

"I'll talk to him Nate, I promise," Parker spoke with a maturity that Nate wasn't previously sure the blonde thief even had inside of her. Her very answer had just boosted his pride in her adjustment to normal life, despite his anger with her insensitivies.

Nate always feared there would be repercussions from Eliot's discretion and consequent handling of his tenuous connection with Damien Moreau. Though his loyalty could never be questioned, it was clear that his initial choice to hide his connections to the evil arms dealer had not gone over well with the others. He had always questioned his own cover-up of the warehouse scene. Eliot had killed many men that day, very bad men, but nonetheless he had killed them all. To begin with, he worried the team would show their fear of Eliot's darker side to him – physically. Now, however, he believed it had been a mistake: full disclosure from now on, it was the only thing that would work for sure. He would ponder the timing and let Eliot know he planned to tell the team, and tonight was a prime example of why.

His reasons… well, for one, the team had no clue exactly what the hitter had been required to do in order to save him and the mysterious Italian lady, that fateful day. What Eliot had sacrificed within his soul that day, in order to protect them all. Nate felt decidedly sullen as he considered what Eliot forfeited in that warehouse. He knew that their trained killer actually hated killing, the cowboy actually hated the man he'd once been for Damien Moreau, hated everything the Government had required him to do for their Country, and in the name of their Country. All of the things he'd done to keep the United States from losing its security, or place in the World order.

There were a great number of people and places that owed its freedom and very safety to that young man, and many more men and women similar to him. As a boy he'd signed his name on the dotted line, in order to fight for his Country, and for his fellow Americans. Not to mention the other smaller Countries that couldn't fight for themselves. Nate suspected that the team wouldn't be entirely proud of some of the things that Eliot Spencer had done throughout his short lifetime. But, in the same vain, he was sure that they would be extremely proud of some of the other things their team mate, and brother, had done for them and many others over the years. So many things that they didn't know about, and some they were never likely to find out about either.

He wished at times that Sam had lived long enough to have grown up, not just for the obvious reasons, but because he wished that his son could have been as brave as Eliot was. He also wished he'd been braver and actually told the younger man how he actually felt about him, and just how proud he was of him.

Seeking solace away from the team, Eliot drove straight to Harvey's private airfield, where one of Eliot's shell companies was the proud owner of an aircraft hangar and that's where he housed his secret workshop. He'd been working on this during any of the Team's down time, and had logged enough hours the previous summer to qualify for his Private Pilot License. After logging his flight plan, he continued onto his pre-flight checks. When he'd finished checking Betsy, his fully restored Beechcraft Musketeer, over thoroughly, the hitter took her up and pointed her towards Denver. They were taking at least one weeks vacation, before they were planning on searching for their next job, and while the team assumed he was driving all the way to Colorado, instead he was going to enjoy his very own private flight.

It never hurt to have some private matters in his life, not secrets like his involvement with Moreau, and since he had hung up his lone-wolf boots it seemed that very little remained private for long around the others. First surprise for them was that he was now a fully qualified pilot, and secondly, he had his own plane, hangar and private airfield in Beaverton. It had taken some finagling when they moved across from LA, but nothing he couldn't manage with a shell company, or two.

Rather than drive all the way and arrive in the Rocky Mountains dog tired - he was enjoying his evening dancing amongst the stars in a cloudless sky. There was an unadulterated serenity to looking at a dark sky littered with glittering stars; especially when viewed from the trail sans light pollution from the big city. Parker had her rooftops, and while that was good, he'd bet that she would love the view from up here.

A few hours later he arrived in Colorado – at Granby-Grand Airfield – where he had asked Shelley to stow his truck. Eliot was feeling tired, but somehow invigorated. The flight had awakened his senses and helped to clear away his bad mood.

Pointing his truck in the right direction, he fired her up and set off for his next stop of the night. He had many secrets and among them was his secret lair in the Rockies, not a million miles from Shelley's place at Grand Lake – but far enough away to keep prying eyes from his door.

Thirty minutes later saw him drop his kitbag inside his cabin. Eliot set the fire for his return and opened up the shutters to let the place breathe. Even though it was mid September, it was still sunny enough, or rather it would be when the day broke fully.

Deciding to get his head down for an hour or so, to recharge his batteries before heading out into the fresh aired wilderness. After a shower and hearty breakfast, it was time for a wander along the trails before meeting up with his friends later that evening.

He was part way along the trail when his mobile phone rang. He knew he should talk to her, but the hurt child in him just wanted to ignore her and carry on with his tranquil walk. He was just looking forward to being normal for the day. Enjoying the trails, beers with his buddies and some peaceful time away from the team. There was no question regarding his loyalties, or to his feelings towards them all. They had wheedled their way into his affections, and it was for that reason alone that he consistently put himself in harms way to defend them all. It was not a job borne out of satisfaction, but one of duty, a duty to the person beside him and behind him. What had once begun as a Military campaign to keep his brethren safe was now a modus operandi for Eliot Spencer, a way to live his life and to keep his friends safe, in whatever life he chose to live.

The trail snaked around the side of a mountain with a sheer drop to the right. He was somewhere along the rising side of the National Trail, though there should have been a better view, but it had been wiped out by the misty clouds. They hung around tumbling against the dewy grass, and fighting off the warming sun of a bright new day.

Without truly focusing on any of the beauty around him, he stomped along the trail. It was all that he could manage to expend some of his frustrations, at first the anger, and secondly how much it had wounded him to see such fragility in Parker's piercing blue eyes. Part of his anger was frustration. He had known for a while that he harbored more feelings for the beautiful young thief, more than he should; more than that of what a sibling would, or should. That said he was fairly sure it was definitely against the bro's code to harbor feelings for said bro's girl. And, that was unlikely to win him any popularity awards, if Hardison ever found out: strike that, he would never risk any of them finding out.

An owl screeched loudly from his left, which made him twitch. He'd totally engrossed himself in his frustrations, and neglected his surroundings. He had no idea where he was on the trail, and secondly, it was further proof to himself that he needed to nip his feelings in the bud, as they were already distracting him. His job was too dangerous to risk getting caught daydreaming. This had to stop. He had to stop.

The trail itself wasn't particularly difficult to navigate, as it wasn't overly high on the mountain. That said, the weather this high in the mountain was treacherous; the fog beneath his path rose without any warning, shoved by a gust of cold wind. He turned around to orientate himself, yet in a matter of seconds he was engulfed in a thick cloud.

Before he could fight it, the pain from the previous night struck back at him. It was like a venomous snake. He was overwhelmed by blinding pain, feelings he couldn't begin to fathom, certainly as to why it was upsetting him so much. He hadn't felt that kind of pain in years. It was all encompassing and its very being invoked a much more frightening reaction within him. He could feel his heart pounding deep within his chest. He began to hyperventilate and his knees buckled beneath him. _He was having a flashback_. It had literally been years since his last, though that didn't seem to diminish the effect they had on him.

He barely moved when he felt the ground under his feet change: he'd stepped off the trail, not seeing it. His foot caught on a tree stump, and he stumbled forward.

Before he knew it, he was falling, tumbling through the mist, he didn't feel anything, but for his last thoughts of Parker going through his mind. One minute he was enjoying the brisk pace he'd set himself along with the fresh wind, blowing gently at a higher than average seasonal high of thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

The next minute, it had all gone dark...


	2. Chapter 2

**I have been trying for over ten days now to publish this story update… FF said it was a glitch, and a few people have had trouble also. Today I have spent three hours repeatedly trying to save this part of the document, in order to publish it. Really annoying! Thanks for your patience.**

 **Thank you for all your kind reviews.**

 **Parker is very out of character, but she's been battling with her feelings for Eliot for some time, although spending much time with Hardison - who is also a little out of character. I needed them to be at crossed swords with each other, to create the end result for the Secret Santa Challenge.**

 **Eliot, we'll all agree, is a one-of-a-kind. There aren't many men who would infiltrate so many no-go Countries to retrieve artifacts, and there is a certain invincible air to his personality. So, yes, I would guess he'd take a short morning hike along a trail all by himself. Of course, he wouldn't usually be so distracted…**

 **I do hope you'll continue to read on despite how I've chosen to start this story off...**

Tom Shelley had been a field medic serving with the special ops unit lead by Mike Vance, teamed up with Dan Savage and Eliot Spencer. They'd all hit it off during their lengthy pre-deployment training, right before their first big job together. Of course alongside being the team's Doc, Shelley had another duty within the team; the spotter in a sniping pair. A team of four that had undermined enemy-state Governments, disrupted supply lines and performed sanctioned political assassinations Worldwide. It made sense that since the early days, this team of four had depended on each other, and no one else. Right up until that day when their friend and brother in arms, Dan Savage had been taken from them. That's when Tom spotted the change in his friend. Between this and good old Military bureaucracy, something else he'd noticed Spencer was finding harder to deal with each day, meant the end for Eliot too. Red tape and new orders had meant Dan had been left behind, right where he'd been lost.

It was a decision they'd all taken hard, but Spencer had been backing Savage up that day, and through sheer dumb luck a stray bullet took him clean out of the game. It was obvious at the time that Eliot blamed himself, followed swiftly by blaming the government that had sent them to that particular shithole in the first place. He'd upped and quit, before their mutual friend Vance could talk him out of it, and before he'd even got to talk it through with him.

It was years before he'd seen Spencer again. That odd boys night out in Boston was the start of more regular gatherings together, and even some of the old Spencer character could still be seen deep within the steely-eyed killer that had stood before him.

Things had gotten awful murky for a good long while, but with Spencer now in Portland, Oregon, with a legitimate team of ex-crooks, doing good deeds for those who couldn't seem to get justice through any legal system – it seemed like the old reliable Eliot Spencer was back with them. He really seemed to have fought whatever demon had been riding him, and while he was even quieter than usual, he was more like the country boy they'd all known for close to twenty years.

Of course, all that wet work for Moreau had given him a real edge. A dark side that none of them wanted to ever see firsthand. They'd all known what he was capable of, and that was before the devil had ripped out what was left of his heart and let him loose on society with a knife. As far as they were aware, he'd never picked up another gun since that round exploded prior to exiting through Dan Savage's neck that day. From their other sniper's nest, Shelley had actually seen the whole incident unfold through his binoculars. There had been nothing that any of them could have done, but that didn't stop the downward spiral of survivor's guilt in the younger soldier.

Now, Tom Shelley ran The Roadhouse, an out of the way tavern off Grand Lake in the Rocky Mountains, Colorado. He'd been there a couple of years and had settled nicely into the quiet ways of the mountains. Even helped out with local Mountain Rescue when he was needed, putting his constantly updated field medic training to good use. Finally, he had found his own peace with the world.

As for this weekend, he was settling in for a raucous time with his boys. The same weekend they'd tried to make a vague tradition since they'd met back up in Boston, three-years previously. Vance was coming over from DC the following morning and should be with him near lunchtime. Spencer hoped to be with them not long after that. He'd already stowed Spencer's truck at the local airfield, Granby, for him to pick up upon arrival.

He wondered if Eliot had told his team yet; he loved his secrets, damn fool. The team would be nothing but happy for him passing his Pilot's License so quickly. No doubt, they'd get a real kick out of him flying them around in his Musketeer. She was a beauty, and incredibly Spencer had yet to take him out for a flight. Maybe he'd talk him into taking him out this week coming. Of course, regular visits anywhere were not ideal, unless you have help with personal security. And, the fact that Granby's airport security was known by the whole team, being either ex Rangers or Marines themselves, made things much easier for them all to be around regularly. Spencer & Vance's arrivals would be kept on the down low; of that he could be sure.

Eliot wasn't entirely sure what it had been that made him wake up just then. He'd clearly had a deep sleep, because he couldn't even recall going to bed, or so he thought. It was the smell of damp leaf mold and dewy moss that caused him even more confusion. That was, until he tried to retrace his day to work out where he might be without opening his eyes. He vaguely recalled flying up to Colorado to meet with Shelley and Vance. They'd clearly had too much beer? Nope, he hadn't gotten a single one. Thoughts of Parker entered his cluttered mind. Reminding him of the last time he'd seen the team. Then his mind stumbled upon his arrival in Colorado, stopping overnight in his cabin, before arriving at the western Trail entrance before mid morning. Why on earth did he hurt so much? It felt like his ribs were all smashed; maybe he'd missed something, and in reality, he'd been involved in one hell of a bar fight instead. But, why was he so tired?

Sure he'd found the flight a little tiring but he'd recalled sleeping, even a few hours in his cold cabin had been worth it.

Sensibly he'd rethought his original plan to get his head down in the truck at the airfield, because it had been so cold overnight. Instead, he'd headed straight to his own place for some shuteye, before heading to walk the trail. He even recalled thinking about how this entire week away from the team would have helped to exorcise his lingering bad mood. He was glad he'd taken the time to check into his own place before dinner with Shelley and Vance, rather than waiting until Sunday morning, when he would likely be feeling a great deal more hung-over. It made sense, especially considering he'd promised his two friends Sunday lunch, consisting of his famous chili beef burgers. They'd even planned to fish out on the lake. All in all, a quiet weekend with his brothers, knee deep in another of his trusted confidantes; mother nature. What more could a man want?

He realized his eyes were still closed, and he couldn't seem to open them. His head hurt more than it rightly should, even after a bottle of Jack and several more beers than he would have needed to imbibe. Trouble was, Eliot couldn't remember meeting up with Shelley and Vance, never mind downing enough hard liquor to cause this painful headache.

He tried moving, to see if a simple hangover could truly be the cause of all this pain. However, when his miniscule movement left his body wracked by a judder of harsh shivers; then he knew he was in trouble. Something told him that he hadn't made it past his first plan, of walking the trail, and the fact it was much cooler than he'd recalled it being, meant it was nearing dark again outside, and the temperature had fallen towards zero.

He had a bad feeling about this.

When he did manage to prize an eye open he discovered that the mild, and warm sunny morning had long since passed, instead a considerably chillier dusk was settling in around him. The irritating scent of damp moss and mold returned, and melded along with the unwelcome sensation of dank moistness that he felt beneath him, as he lay on the unforgiving rocky floor. These unwelcome sensations were accompanied by the sound of dripping water. Thank goodness he'd been trained to withstand torture. Twilight was clearly upon him, meaning he'd been laying here for hours, and the uneasy stiffness he could also feel deep within his body caused more shivers to flow right through him.

Blinking to clear his blurred vision, he tried to raise his head from the unforgiving terrain, to no avail. Instead, he kept his head down and raised his hand toward it, and began to feel across his scalp for any injuries that might cause him to be on the ground. At the back of his head was where he found the ovoid shape; this bump was big and his fingers felt damp upon touching the egg shaped lump. It was hurting much too much to go near it for any longer than absolutely necessary to assess his injuries. He almost passed out at the pain this caused him. Wincing, he scrunched his eyes up harder. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried once more to open his eyes, a very brief glance around in the feint light that flowed down from the crisp moonlight that hung above. His vision too blurred to make out anything much of his location. Exhaling exasperatedly, he steeled himself once more to make another attempt at moving, as he couldn't just lie there and he was going to have to get himself out of this mess at some point.

After another futile attempt resulted in him vomiting painfully, his concern turned to his state of mind. Why were his thoughts so fuzzy? He was usually much more proactive in his mind, always thinking several steps ahead of his nemeses, and undoubtedly he should have an extraction plan somewhere in his confused mind. With his arms, he reached out, left and then right, his hand connected with a fabric strap, his rucksack. Dragging it closer to his right side, he turned his head to inspect his find. The dizziness caused him to vomit once more. Concussion. Just what he needed!

Clearing the acid bile from his mouth was literally the last thing he ever wanted to repeat. Opening his eyes again caused such dizziness, he was unlikely to forget; though he was pretty sure he'd never want to remember it either. His hand reached into the sack for a bottle of water, one he was sure he'd placed inside. Finding it was easy enough, even with his eyes closed again. Unscrewing the cap was decidedly tougher than it should have been. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

Finally, he managed to rinse his mouth out, which brought about a thirst he had been previously unaware of. He took a few very small sips, sensibly, his training beginning to kick back in. Lying flat again, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as deeply as his wounded chest would permit, he began to try and formulate a plan.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shrill, whistling sound, Eliot's eyes sprung open unleashing another wave of nausea. His mobile phone; again, why hadn't he thought of that? He felt along his body until he located the vibrating noise machine. Lifting it closer to his head, he answered.

"I thought you said he was definitely coming back this weekend." Michael Vance asked across the bar, as he swirled his first beer around.

"Yep, he rang and told me he was on his way last night; a little earlier than planned." Tom Shelley wiped down the last of lunchtime's customers flatware and glasses, before placing them back up on the shelf. All while he was chatting with the first of his private guests to arrive. "I checked with Alan's crew up at the airfield, they told me that Betsy is parked up and his truck is gone."

The Roadhouse on Granby Lake, Colorado, off Highway 34 was going to be their home for the next few days. It was unsurprising that they seemed to find the rustic luxury somewhat charming at this old place. Checking out their individual bedrooms usually unearthed more surprises, not to mention heavy duvets, blanket boxes and roaring open fires lit in each one. Historically there had been evidence of the Ute and Arapaho Indian tribes in the area nearby, up until recent times. The old Roadhouse was decorated aesthetically in-keeping with the local history.

"I guess he went up to his cabin first, if he arrived that early then he may have slept it off up there. Let's call him and see when he'll be down." Vance plucked his cell from his jeans pocket and found Spencer's number. Dialing the phone, he placed it on the bar before opting for speakerphone mode.

After the fifth ring, it connected and it sounded like Spencer was in a recording booth, all tin-ny and echo-ey.

"Where are you man?" Shelley laughed into the cell phone.

"Dunno…" Silent pause, "think… fell… can't 'mber," came the feint reply. It sure sounded like Eliot Spencer, and as he wasn't the 'punking' type, because no one was more serious about such things, they opted to believe he wasn't wasting their time.

The soldiers were on their feet in an instant. Vance handed the cell phone to Tom Shelley, while he snatched up the other man's cell phone. He dialed a number in Portland that he'd memorized, just in case.

"Nathan Ford," came the formal reply of the mastermind.

"It's Vance; we got a problem."

"Nathan Ford," answered the team leader, bored already by his first shopping trip with Sophie. While he would never tire of spending time with her, must it always be shopping, really? He just couldn't face much more without a drink. Surely, she must already own two of absolutely everything ever made, and sold.

"It's Vance; we got a problem," came a serious male voice down the phone.

"I'm guessing it's too much to hope you've just run out of beer?" deadpanned the mastermind.

"Smart ass. Goddamn it Ford, he's lying injured somewhere. He can't tell us where. You got that geek kid there with you?" Vance's request sounded so much more like an order. It made Nate grateful he'd never joined up. For operational security he would never have mentioned Eliot's name over the phone, not and give his position away at the same time, though Nate instantly knew it was Eliot the senior man was referring to.

"I'll get him on the case, and ring you straight back. This number okay to use?" Nate asked as he motioned for Sophie to wrap it up swiftly.

"Yep, it's Tom Shelley's. We'll get out there and ready to go. You might need to bring Tom some medical back up."

Nate ended the call without acknowledging the inference from Colonel Vance regarding Eliot's possible injuries. Instead, he hit speed dial for the hacker, quietly pondering what on earth had happened to the young southerner that left him unable to even tell them where he was. That didn't sound like the Eliot Spencer he knew.

"Come on Hardison, answer the phone." Nate tapped idly as he waited for the hacker to wake up and answer his phone. Early afternoons were like morning to the youngster, who mostly spent all night battling orcs and gnomes.

"What's the matter Nate?" enquired Sophie.

"Eliot's had an accident, his military buddies are close by, but they can't locate his exact position, I need Hardison to…."

A sleepy voice answered the phone after a good few rings.

"Hardison, how quickly can you ping Eliot's phone? We need an exact location, close as possible. Seems that he's injured, and can't be found." He truncated the information as much as possible.

"Holy shit, can't that man do anything by half?" Hardison grumbled, but was simultaneously tapping on his keyboard, "I'm on it."

"Is Parker there?" Nate enquired over the sound of keys being punched frantically on a keyboard.

"Nah man, she left before midnight."

"Can you find her too, please? We'll go and pick her up. Meet us at the plane." Nate wasn't just briefing the hacker, as Sophie was close enough now to pick up on the information. "Text Sophie her coordinates, and I'll have Eliot's please."

They were almost at the car service when Sophie's phone signaled a text message arriving. She gave the driver the coordinates, and after placing them into his GPS he set off with them both aboard.

"I got him Nate," Hardison's voice once again interrupted his thoughts. "He's in a ravine from the looks of it. I can't get anything real-time, but there's a picture I'm forwarding with better detail on it."

"I see. Well done, meet us at the hub." Nate cut the line and was dialing Tom Shelley's phone in an instance.

"Looks like he's in a ravine of some sort, I'm forwarding coordinates and a photo of the area. No real time imagery available." The mastermind briefed the Company man succinctly.

"We'll get right out there. You should be with us in a couple of hours. We should have him by then and more of an idea of what we're dealing with," Vance replied.

"We'll be on our way shortly," Nate reflected briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting off the suffocating sensation he was feeling. "Look after him, please."

"Naturally." Vance countered with a chuckle before he closed his phone. Leave no man behind.

"Hardison's information reckons he shouldn't be too far from this three meter radius." Colonel Vance led the way along the North Inlet Trailhead with his GPS set to the coordinates Nate Ford had provided.

"There!" Shelley pointed, "Over there, there are signs of disturbance by those bushes." Both men trudged over, dropping their kit down so they could check more thoroughly.

Spotting a dim light, and a flash of red & white, most likely Spencer's trusty bandana. What on earth caused him to go over there…?

"I see a dim light, could be his phone." Shelley looked closer, while Vance dialed Eliot's number again. They hadn't kept him on the phone, as his voice was slurring more and more. It was painful to listen to.

Eliot finally answered. "'at… took you… so long?"

Vance laughed out loud, almost in relief. They've found him, and Spencer sounded a little more lucid this time.

"How're you doing down there?"

"Concussion… think… was out for… a while, …time is it?" Maybe he wasn't so lucid, as he was a little confused.

"D'you think you can you climb out, with Tom's help?"

"Yeah… think so…" The injured man replied.

"Hey Spencer, was looking forward to meeting at the bar, rather than down here." Shelley approached his former colleague who was laid out prone, eyes closed. He noticed a distinct smell of vomit, and shone his torch to check usual medic type things: how much vomit and was there any blood etc. He remembered from his days serving with Eliot Spencer what a self-sacrificing SOB he was, and he would no sooner tell him how he was feeling, then sit and cry in front of you. Blood.

Well, dammit all, that's going to change things a little.

"So, what d'you remember?" Tom asked gingerly, settling down aside the former soldier. When Spencer didn't answer, Shelley un-shouldered his kit bag, took his gloves off, and warned him before his hands went straight for Eliot's head to start his exam.

"Dunno… I came... up here… after ten." He tried to lick his lips, his mouth sounded dry. "Walked from… north-west entrance," Spencer managed to talk but couldn't seem to focus on him. Shelley wet his lips with a wet wipe.

"Ger…off." Slurred Spencer, sounding like he'd drank every drop of Jack in the Roadhouse already. "Hurts."

"Oh yeah, I bet it does, that's quite some egg you got there." Shelley teased the younger man. "Good job that your head's hard as wood, hey."

"Can you open your eyes for me?" Tom said as he double clicked his smaller pocket torch.

"Nope, you… gonna blind… me…" Slower and slower the man spoke, his words considerably more slurred with each phrase. "With …'at torch."

"You know I gotta do it Spencer," Tom batted away the kitten's paws. "Come on now, quicker I do it, quicker it's over. Then we can get outta here and get some drinking done."

Individually, they both knew there'd be no drinking tonight. Spencer couldn't hold his eyes open in the dark, never-mind with the torch. He'd been spewing and missing for at least six hours. That meant he'd been unconscious most of the day thus far. This boy wasn't going home, he was going straight to the Medical Center at Granby.

Taking out his phone, he texted his findings to Vance. No sense in scaring Spencer yet; he'd freak out enough when he found out where they were heading.

"Where… t'others?" Spencer's voice sounded smaller all of a sudden, he was clearly concerned about his team. Shelley decided to tell him they were safe, that way he wouldn't worry unnecessarily.

"Your team's all safe and sound."

"Why ain't… they… with us…'is time?" Now he was starting to scare Tom. That was quite some concussion already, but now he was getting confused too. Another text to Vance; he needed the team at Granby Medical Center on standby for their friend tonight.

The torchlight was a surprise for Eliot, but he had to check his reflexes and things just went from bad to worse right there, and then. The torchlight must have pierced the hitter's eyelids and before Shelley could fling himself sideways, Spencer had thrown up over him. If the medic had thought that was bad, it nearly broke his heart when he heard what came next.

"Sorr…y Dan."

"Oh boy, we got another job already?" Parker asked as she descended the high ropes at the children's playground, only to find Nate and Sophie stood there.

"No sweetheart, we've come to get you because Eliot's had an accident." Sophie didn't grift the team as a rule, but Nate sometimes found her very calming voice an extremely helpful asset.

"What happened?" the younger girl demanded, her eyes full of worry and unshed tears, flitting between Sophie and himself.

"We'll explain in the car," Nate said, encouraging the ladies along with his outstretched arm. "We're heading to Colorado, the plane is being fuelled up."

"It's bad, isn't it?" Parker stated, her question somehow more of a statement. Her quiet voice almost cracked and to him she managed to sound younger just then, than at any time before. He always thought of her as crazy, same as the whole world probably did, and with that street smarts came strength. He was mostly right, but just then she sounded every bit the young, frightened little girl that was hidden deep with her 'World Famous Thief' persona: the very real Parker.

"We don't know yet, his old Ranger buddies are finding out more." Nate knew that Parker would understand exactly whom he was talking about, knowing that she'd met and worked with Vance in Washington earlier that year.

"Whatever has happened, we'll deal with it together," Sophie addressed the pale-faced blonde, "First priority is getting the others to him directly. Hardison is on that." Getting into the car, Nate opted for the front seat, leaving the ladies to get in the back. Once the doors were closed, they set off. "We can be more helpful to them by being there and helping them keep Eliot calm," turning in his seat, he looked directly at Parker, before relaxing his clamped jaw. "You know how he hates hospitals." Adding a quick yet firm smile before returning his head toward the front.

As the car hit the freeway, Sophie turned to see her friend staring out the passenger window. Holding her outstretched hand across the rear seat she could feel the slight tremble throughout it. Squeezing it gently she caused the thief to turn and face her. With a gentle smile she spoke quietly. "Parker, we'll deal with everything once we know that Eliot is safe and sound." Sophie deliberately used her softest English accent, pulling Parker's hand closer towards her and clutching it with her other one. "Then we'll deal with everything else that's going on."

Vance stood waiting as patiently as he possibly could at the top of the slope, getting more and more concerned with each text that popped up from Shelley, who was still dealing with Spencer deep in the ravine.

Looking around with his flashlight, Vance struggled to see how an experienced operator could have simply fallen off the edge of the trail here. Could he have had a little help? It was supposed to be a quiet area where the three of them were known locally, and not for their professional skills instead for their fishing and drinking abilities. This was their safe place, where they could switch off from the outside worlds they lived in respectively. His thoughts were interrupted by a different sound from his phone; not a text this time, but a call from Nathan Ford.

"We've found him; Tom's checking him over now." Vance answered with the update he knew Ford would be calling for.

"Good to hear that." Nate's voice gave away his concern for the younger member of his team. "Any chance you can put him on the line?"

"Unlikely, looks like he's been out for a few hours, at the very least. He's got a moderate concussion and is heading straight for the medical center here; once we get him up from his landing spot." No point in sugar coating it, his boss needed to know what was going on and although he'd given him the pertinent details, it was between them for now that Spencer's noggin was a little scrambled. "I got a Search & Rescue team ready to meet us, complete with trauma team. I'll text you the details. Are you local?"

"No," came the pensive reply, before continuing. "However, we're less than an hour west of you by air. Should be with you in a couple of hours, tops." The team leader's voice was reflective; Vance should have known that Spencer would worm his way into the man's affections. He did it to everyone he ever worked with, and he knew from personal experience, only too well. The silence lead Vance to believe the mastermind had hung up, before a less confident voice spoke up, "How bad is it looking?"

"Bad enough Ford. See you soon." Vance closed the phone, hoping that was the last time he'd have to talk about injuries with a waiting family member again.

A text arrived, detailing what he assumed to be Eliot's alias from the team. All it said was 'Eliot Daniels SSN 892 06 7944, keep him safe please'.

Vance smiled at the last part, that kid sure has a way of wheedling his way into your heart.

"Seems he got to you too, Ford," he said to no one in particular.

Deciding he couldn't stand around here any longer without doing something more useful than arranging logistics, he dialed Tom's number. At least he could pass on to Eliot that the remainders of his team were on their way.

"Hey," came Tom's greeting. A little more despondent he noted.

"How's it going?" He asked carefully, not too loaded a question but hopefully the opening to give the medic a way to answer candidly.

"Gimme a sec," he heard the young medic shift position, while he continued to get frustrated at not being able to see what was happening down there. "He's out again. Fairly bad concussion from what I can see down here. He's been out on the trail since after ten am – Mike he's been out here for hours. He apologized last time he puked, then he called me Dan."

"Oh." Mike Vance sighed deeply. Not that shit all over again.

"He's going to need a scan Mike, can you talk with his guys about ID etc." Tom enquired. "Also, he's going to need to be carried outta here."

"Okay, give me five minutes," He began to formulate a plan. "Tom, look I know you're looking out for him medically, well…erm, just stay close, okay?"

"Of course."

A few phone calls later and a gentleman called Jack Harper appeared overhead in his rusty old chopper. A Vietnam Veteran who had never given up his flying skills, and had fortunately also decided to retire up in the Rockies. He and his bird Matilda had been dispatched by the Granby Medical Center to retrieve their patient.

Vance watched as Eliot was winched up, attached to Tom who was supporting the longhaired man's heavily bandaged head. Once they were on board safely, the line was sent back down for Mike to latch on. He wasn't going back off the trail on his own in the dark, and Tom needed to go with their patient. Attaching himself to the line, he signaled he was ready and his assent commenced.

As he was untying he noticed that Tom was very busy with the patient. Vance leaned through to the front, to thank the pilot for picking them up.

"Thank you Sir," Mike spoke candidly; he was grateful, incredibly so. "Thank you for getting our friend off the trailhead."

"No problem Son," Jack Harper spoke with a wry smile, "it's my pleasure to be useful again."

Turning back Mike Vance moved closer to the patient's side. He was shocked to see Eliot Spencer looking quite so lifeless, pale and grey looking, with blood soaked into the back of his hair and a distinct smell of vomit over his clothes.

"How's he doing?" Mike asked the younger man, who was taking a breather.

"Hanging in there, but I don't like his confusion or the fact he won't stay conscious." Tom was kneeling by his friend then leant back on his heels, wiping his blood stained hands on his thighs, glancing directly at his former CO. "Christ Mike, how on earth did he go over there?"

"I don't know, that's something we're going to have to ask him, soon, in case we're dealing with outside forces."

"I hope he gets through this, Mike. I don't know anyone whose life has been this much of an uphill battle." The medic pulled on fresh gloves before studying his patient thoroughly.

"He's tough, Tom and you can bet his stubborn self that he won't be giving up any time soon." Mike offered a lengthy sigh as he finished, hoping he hadn't just lied to another friend. Looking back down at their former colleague, he noticed how young the pale man looked. Despite the mud, blood and windswept hair.

"Did he always look that young?" Vance asked, after closer examination of his friends face. It had been a few months since he'd seen him last, and his hair had been even longer then.

"Yeah, I think he did." Tom Shelley spoke quietly as he wiped a wet wipe across Eliot's face.

Granby Medical Center, Granby Colorado was only twenty minutes by flight, and was longer by road, given that the mountains were in the way, and often people had to go all the way around them.

The trauma team greeted their arrival on the roof. Tom and Mike both thanked the elder Veteran with a swift and smart salute, after shaking his hand. They explained that the three of them were once soldiers too and invited him to the Roadhouse next time he was passing for drinks on the house. Tom wasn't overly worried about his loss in profits, as he knew they'd all be more than happy to buy the Veteran as many drinks as he wanted. After all, where would any of them be without the previous generation of Veterans?

Once Tom had passed over his findings to the trauma doctor, he and Mike were shown into the waiting room. An hour in and they were both getting antsy; no updates thus far and the while the coffee wasn't bad, they would be climbing the walls if they had anymore of it.

The timely arrival of Eliot's friends helped to ease some of the tense boredom. Now they would have much to discuss.

Vance and Shelley updated them with what they had found, Eliot's state of consciousness and his probable moderate concussion. They left out any historical facts between them, unsure of what he might have told his new crew.

Parker had been persistently silent since Sophie and Nate had explained to her that Eliot had been injured. She had an awful lot of things to think about.

She might be unconventional and slightly kooky, a part which she had began playing early in her exciting and prominent career. There was a percentage of it that really was her, but she did down play her intelligence, something she knew Eliot did too – mostly because people let their guard down around you, believing they had the upper hand. While unbeknown to them, the thief was taking in every detail. Despite all that, she already knew her actions the previous night had been so far beyond any of the crazy things she had ever done before. There was something in her that wanted to hurt Eliot, to push him away, to break the inexplicable link that they had formed without effort – without the effort she and Hardison seemingly needed to put in, in order to make their own relationship work.

If only she could believe that she wasn't in love with the handsome hitter.

Explaining it all to Hardison had been harder than she'd first considered, though that's exactly what she had done the previous night. He had admitted to having been confounded by her behavior, and while he had initially joined in with Parker's mischievous banter with Eliot, he'd been mad as hell at her by the time they'd left the office.

She felt her eyes moisten again when she glanced towards the hacker, as they all sat waiting to hear news of their friend; her heart breaking for his unhappiness. It would take some time for the sorrow she felt to pass, sorrow that she had failed to give Alec the relationship he had desired. Sorrow deep down that she had caused such pain, to them both. She had not imagined the pure hurt and pain that she had seen in Eliot's eyes while she lambasted him the previous night; all in order to push him away. Instead, she had compounded the whole situation by causing him even more pain, this time physical pain. There was no doubt in her mind that she was absolutely responsible for his current physical pain.

Her mind set on that, she hoped that Alec would eventually forgive her for her confusion and for thinking that she was ready for a relationship with the handsome hacker. There was no questioning his outer beauty, but more than that, Alec Hardison was a gentleman: An honest to God gentle man. He could no more intentionally hurt you, than hurt a butterfly. He was, in many ways, the opposite of Eliot Spencer. Who was she trying to fool? Eliot Spencer was equally as gentle, he just used more persuasive ways to invoke his protection.

Chancing a glance in the hacker's direction, Parker noticed that he was looking her direction and with his arms folded, sitting back in the waiting room chair. He was unusually inactive, sat seemingly in quiet contemplation: much as she was herself. He looked away first, standing up and exiting the small waiting room.

Sophie was concerned for Parker. The thief was sat stock still, apparently deep in thought, occasionally casting a glance at Alec before returning to her concentrated inspection of the floor. Her eyes had moistened on more than one occasion, and now that her eye contact with the hacker had ended, those unshed tears were threatening to fall. She also started to shiver. "Parker, sweetie, are you cold?"

Parker looked up at her, causing the shiver to turn into a hiccup of exploding tears. It was new for the younger woman to have even acknowledged her question. There was a time when she would have ignored her question entirely, closing down instead of opening herself up to any personal pain. Sophie's heart cracked there and then, the pain in the younger girls eyes was palpable.

"I'm fine, nothing wrong with me." Parker's reply caught Sophie off guard. Her voice was croaky and audibly quieter than usual. She had barely uttered a word since they had collected her from the Park. It seemed like such a long time since she had heard her young friend's voice.

"Maybe we can see if someone can get us an update." Nate clearly overheard her rather one-sided attempt at conversation with the thief. In his patriarchal role he was obviously trying to help when he offered to find an update on their friend, and moved toward the nurse's station before continuing, "You know what Eliot's like, he's probably giving them hell as we speak."

Sophie observed that Nate's comment made Eliot's Military friends both offer wan smiles as he passed by. Clearly Nate wasn't too far off the mark with his comments. She added a slight smile hoping to lighten the melancholy that Parker was obviously feeling. More time passed, Nate had returned without news and Alec had allegedly gone off to collect more coffee for them all. The heavy silence returned and remained until Sophie heard the thief's voice quietly from closer to her side.

"I'm an awful person, Sophie," Parker whispered, though she continued staring directly towards the door, as if watching for a doctor would in fact make them appear, preferably armed with good news. "I've been thinking about it all night." Turning back towards her before she continued, this time her eyes hung heavy with more unshed tears. "This is all my fault Sophie."

"Oh Parker," The English woman pulled the blonde closer and into a one-armed hug, Parker rested her forehead on Sophie's shoulder. "What you said was cruel and very wrong, you know that already. All that aside, we have no way to know what happened to Eliot yet." Sophie admonished the younger girl gently and cautiously. She was fragile, and was in need of reassurance. Sophie had no doubt that Eliot would find it in his heart to forgive the young thief, just as soon as they could talk with each other.

"What if he doesn't get better? Tom said his head was bad," Parker's levee finally bursting as a downpour of tears . Clearly she had reached her limit of holding the tears inside and whatever guilt she'd been feeling was now pouring out in relief of being able to voice her worries. "What if I never get to tell him I'm sorry?"

"Oh darling." The sheer anguish in the younger girl's voice caused her own unshed tears to begin their descent. "Of course you'll get to tell him." Sniffling into a rapidly produced tissue from her handbag, Sophie passed another one to Parker.

 _How could she persuade Parker that everything was going to be okay, when she couldn't even be sure herself?_


End file.
